


Bridal Price

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Hvitserk has a woman— one among many. He rarely cares for sex with her except when he comes back for raids. Being the best seamstress in Kattegat, she has many suitors. He has to make a choice.





	1. Chapter 1

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c2974d3cf353a812df7badca9fdbf31a/tumblr_pfhh4rPXku1v19l0n_500.jpg)

* * *

If he was being honest, he had tons of women. Ones with large breasts and wide hips, ones with an amazing tongues and tight little or decadently thick bodies. It was all a matter of time whose taste was on his tongue at a given time.

“Sigurd has Margrethe tonight?” Hvitserk bumps his shoulder with his brother’s own. Ubbe, having been left out, had his own plans.

“Yes. So Revna is mine.” The first to stake his claim— of course Hvitserk had to respect it. He was the oldest after all, he should have had first choice. That didn’t mean that Hvitserk was happy about it. Hvitserk bobs his head in a nod, lips flatly pursing together.

“Signe is raiding with Harald and Halfdan.” He laments bitterly. “That means I am left with her. What is her name?”

Ubbe shrugs his shoulders. “You should ask her, brother. It isn’t like she sleeps with me.”

“We all have our prizes, brother. I’m hers.” He beams, teasing the chocolatey rim of his tunic trim to his slender body. Since she made it for him, all the women had been throwing Hvitserk sultry looks. It was made more than finely.

“Tell her to make your brother one.” Ubbe tilts his head so slightly, raising his brow to crease his forehead just so. Hvitserk laughs as he walks away on his heels.

“Find a wife brother!”

* * *

Luta? Mjoll? No, no that was the one with snowy skin. Soma. That was it! Wait… Not knowing a woman’s name was offensive enough. But pouring more salt on the wound was the fact that as he walked into your shop, your father was there. He was a merchant by trade. Not at all Viking even though he was native to Kattegat.

“Young Hvitserk. Are you here for a new tunic?” He folds his toned arms. “The one (Y/N) made you went over well.”

(Y/N); that was it.

“Here to see your daughter. I was missing her.” He smiles cheekily.

“Not enough to ask about her mundr.” Geir, your father, fell aside a little bitterly. Hvitserk pushes into the room, seeking out where you were setting away your things in their proper placement. There were tons and tons of tunics, dresses and trousers all hung up like a fine line of laundry in arrays of colours.

“Fadir, I finished the Earl’s– my prince!” You squeak, taken up by Hvitserk’s slender but toned muscles winding around your waist. You know it is him by the scent– sweet fruit, ale and sweat of battle on his skin. He nestles his button nose into your long hair, laced in braids and loose strands.

“Your prince, I love it.” Hvitserk muses gently. He forces the name over and over again in his mind. (Y/N), (Y/N).

“What are you doing here, Hvitserk?” Your hands find his long fingers sliding across a finely made dress. Fine because of course– you had made it.

“Come to see the best little seamstress in Kattegat of course. To model this.” He spins you around so that you might look at your work. If it looked good pinned up, it looked better on him. Your hands crawl their way up to Hvitserk’s shoulders where they rest.

“It looks amazing!” You reply.

“Lets go out.” Hvitserk reaches down lower, gripping those hips that were shamefully hidden behind your woolen dress. A sin! If ever the Christian’s had anything right!

“But Papa…”

“He has your ugly sisters to help him.” Hvitserk’s mouth cups over your neck, swirling small suckling marks across your neck. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You look around, finding that of course your father is there with folded arms, jaws knit tight and a foreign frown glistening behind his dark eyes.

“Go ahead.” He says, threading his hand through his aging hair. Hvitserk doesn’t waste a second lacing his fingers with yours, rushing you out of there and finding somewhere different to go. Your laughs filter out of the shop and away from your longhouse. He ran with you for your favourite place– the river. Your naked body slips out from underneath heavy woolen fabric, revealing the curves he hadn’t seen in weeks. His eyes snap up toward you, pulling you into a hungry kiss.

Kisses that lead to wadding deep in the salty water. Your naked breasts dipping against his chest as he guides you onto his hips. The smooth buoyant water helping guide his dick in and out of your body with ease. The adorable part of your lips as you took him without complaint.

This was the part Hvitserk loved the most.

* * *

When he leaves on raids, it is easy to say goodbye to his brothers. Mother never seems more proud to see him off, holding him as tight as she must have when he was in her womb. Over her shoulder, he does manage to catch a sight of something else. It shows upon his shamefully proud face when Sigurd turns.

“(Y/N)?” He watches as you flush and turn away, waving softly to sweet Hvitserk on the hopes that maybe he would wave back too. He doesn’t. 

“Yeah, her. She’s a mess.” He laughs. “Keep an eye on her for me, brother.”

Sigurd nods, arms one over another. “She doesn’t sleep around.”

“I’m not so sure.” Hvitserk looks away, beginning to board the boat after Bjorn. “Women are fickle.”

Things changed. Feelings could be hot and excited one moment and hateful another. With all the women he fucked, it was important to know which ones were planning something. It wouldn’t be the first or last pregnancy scare he had with a woman.

“Bye Hvitserk!” You wave after him, less than shyly waving at the boat. He knew that you wouldn’t cheat. For one sole reason– you were obsessed with him. His kisses, his soft touches, him. All of him. It was easier to say you would than face having an actual good woman on his hands.

Marriage was serious. Fucking… that was easy.


	2. Chapter II: A Watchful (Snake) Eye

Sigurd was sure that she was a good woman for Hvitserk.

After all, he never saw her turn him down a day that he was in need of anything. There was always a warm place in your bed for him. Even when he deserved to have his ass thrown out. How many times had he come to you bored?

So with that in mind, this seemed real odd to be doing. The women were filtering in and out, collecting the most loveliest of dresses made for special occasions. Your father and brothers tend to the flock– but today, he swore he saw him occupying the inside of the home.

“Sigurd, what are you doing out that door?”

He hadn’t exactly known that you knew you were there. He supposed– he should have. He doddles forward with his arms folded one over another. There you were spinning as you always were, looking over your shoulder to him with hands working the wool. You weren’t alone. Your sisters cluster about the room with their hands on similar things.

“Prince Sigurd!” The coo.

“Hello.” He gently smiles, lowering his head as they talked among one another, losing focus. On the other hand you kept your focus even despite speaking to him. You spun the strands at the same angle and speed to ensure that the strands would not shrink or wrinkle.

“Why are you here?” Your tallest of sisters says evenly focused.

“Why he’s been out there since Prince Hvitserk left raiding.” Another says, curling a piece of her hair around her ear. It didn’t have to be prince Sigurd, you suppose. It could have been anyone. Your sisters were obsessed with sweet princes.

“You’re going to wrinkle it.” You say as you finish your work, winding it about a reel. Your sister doesn’t suppress her annoyed sigh as she turns back to her work.

“He’s been here to watch you.” She says while winding the strands at an increasing speed. “For Prince Hvitserk, isn’t that right (Y/N)? He’s making sure you don’t go knocking around with other men.”

You turn away from the conversation, pulling your long woad blue skirts. “Can I speak to you Sigurd?” You motion him out toward another area where a great cauldron boils fat green walnuts around, knocking side to side. You use your ladle to push them about.

“I don’t mind you coming around.” You begin. “But it must be boring outside. You could… spend time inside with me. Its lonely without him around.”

He was certain you were going to ask him to fuck off. The words never came though. Instead, you simply gave him a small bobbing smile when through the doorway, a familiar face stepped out from another room.

“Ubbe?” His eldest brother had a sway in his step, looking around the room to the other ladies that sit gossiping of the most ridiculous sort of things. Later you would hear them squealing on how you managed to excite three of the princes instead of the one. You inspect your dye while the oldest prince clears his throat, leaning into the both of you.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).” Ubbe bows his head lightly and finally you look up from your work.

“Prince Ubbe.” You glance as your father turns out of the doorway to his usual work outside. Perhaps something about this whole arrangement seems odd; but being a woman who always wanted to see the best in everyone, you ignore the odd waft in the home left by their presence and go about your work.

Sigurd on the other hand follows his brother out of the home. “What was that?”

They walk into the dirt streets, Ubbe’s steps light while Sigurd stomps beside him. “Have you ever stopped to think of her mundr?”

“She’s Hvitserk’s.” Sigurd walks through the dusty trail, kicking up dirt. Perhaps his other brothers were in the business of stealing women from one another– but that wasn’t him.

“Of course she is. But she has other suitors to choose from.” Ubbe reasons. “And he needs a little push.”

Sigurd clears his throat. “Do you think that she would pick someone else?”

They burst into laughter at the thought. You were more closely wrapped around his finger than Jormungandr around Midgard.

* * *

Kattegat’s pier was within eye distance.

The figures were waving around on shore. Each one a woman or man waiting for their special arrival. This time, his brothers wouldn’t be on shore. Mother wouldn’t be either– for she knew just who Hvitserk wanted to spend his time with.

“Have a girl waiting for you at home, Hvitserk?”

An older man was coming unfortunately home. He was greying– and found that he simply could not die. Odin had yet to pick him to join Valhalla. A fact that was clearly lamented about. He had been allowed to come by Bjorn for just that purpose.

“Yeah, a good one.” Hvitserk grasps the edge of the boat, watching as the figures became clearer and clearer. Your lovely nutty brown dress comes into focus and he’s sure you’ve worked extra hard, into your free time, to make yourself a new dress for him to enjoy.

“Makes coming home that much more worth it.” He tells Hvitserk. There’s a bite low in his belly– saying yes, it really would be. There is something far different from enjoying the foreign women who now sat as thralls to a free, beautiful woman that now tippy toed on the edge of the pier, waving with her long sleeves flapping in the wind.

Another part of him says that he could completely side step her. There were other women in Kattegat. He doesn’t HAVE to have that one.

The second he stepped off that boat, you launch yourself onto him. His sword is forcefully forgotten, taking his hands to support your waist. Almost like a sweet child you root for his kisses, each one like small puffs of life.

“Let me breathe.” He mumbles against your lips, pulling back long enough to spin you around in your new dress. Everytime he comes home, he inspects the newest of your clothes and looks about. No one has a finer dress or more beautiful wife– err, woman.

“Come home with me!” You exclaim, tugging your hand laced with his to bring him in.

“I should go see Sigurd and Ubbe first.” He stumbles forward, words lightening with every sweet kiss you lay on his lap. Your hand slips between the space of his warm furs, guiding between his clothes to give him a tender massage against his hardening member.

“They’ll know you’re with me… please, please, please?”

There was no winning this fight. He bends down to pick up his sword, nodding to you.

“Lead the way, babe.”


	3. Chapter III: Only Mine

As a father, he was without options.

Your bed was empty as it usually was when prince Hvitserk came home from raid. He could only guess you had gone to the Ragnarsson’s cabin… and from there, he knew what you were doing.

“Fuck… c’mon baby, let me cum.” He hisses softly, dropping his head from your slick pussy. He drags your hips down with him, dipping his fingers into velvety walls of your sex. He swears that you’ve mocked him long enough. Somehow though, you haven’t. Your fist beats down on his cock, slurping at his crown with obscene noises. Your opposing hand holds him between thumb and forefinger, holding him in place while you worship his body with your touch.

As if he hadn’t been suffering up, your hips shimmied down his body to his dick. He inhales as you push him deeply inside and begin to ride him with the eagerness of a woman riding a horse. He’s only there for the ride, letting his calloused hands move over your naked back. Your long hair bounces with every thrust. Less than shyly, Hvitserk’s hands came over the very round hips that lured him here in the first place.

“You look so good like that.” Hvitserk worships, his palm ringing a loud slap on your ass to encourage you on. One thrust after another thrust after another. Before long, your shy gasps become loud, pleasured squeals. Hvitserk knows he’s found something good and keeps after it. Soon you give him what he so longed for with his hand worshipping your abused hole– pleasure. A spurt of your excitement coats the bed and you clench him with decadent force. He has no choice but to cum inside; knowing fully well he should be pulling out. He wrenches his hips upward and his seed would spill forth in spurts to fill you with sticky pleasure.

“You know just how to work a cock.” Hvitserk worships, tugging your hips back to tip your back against his chest. You giggle with Hvitserk’s slender arm wrapping in front of you, shoulder to shoulder. At some point, Hvitserk’s softened cock slips from your hole. The wamth of his seed spills over your ass– a feeling that he loves to feel spilling over his naked body.

“If I could get you to talk, it would be perfect.” He remarks. That was precisely why you got the name of the ‘boring’ one. Always so quiet in sex other than the In a hazy voice, you finally speak back to him.

“I don’t know what I would say.” You murmur.

“Something kinky.” Hvitserk yawns, shimmying from under you to lay by your side. “Tell me all about what your sisters think about my big dick.”

You giggle. Enough that Hvitserk looks to you somewhat sharply. “Why is that funny?”

“Oh. It’s just…” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ears. “They think Björn is the biggest. Then Ivar and Ubbe.”

He looks up to the ceiling, glowering at the supporting planks. “I’m at least bigger than Ivar.” He pouts. “Did you tell them that?”

From your silence, he assumes you haven’t. You sigh contently, stroking your thumb against his plush cheek. “What does it matter, Hvitserk? Margrethe, Signe and Revna have boasted all about your wonderful tongue.” You ask. “I’m modest.”

Modest for sleeping with a Ragnarsson. No, specifically Hvitserk. Your body was his. Hvitserk says nothing for a moment but then, slipping from beside you; he fetches his pants from the floor, ignoring your fingers sliding around his hips.

“You aren’t mad with me, are you Hvit?” You start weaseling your hand down to push away his pants.

“Why should I be mad?” Hvitserk scoffs to cover the ache of his heart. “If you do not want to tell them, someone else will.”

Usually this would be the part which you would hush Hvitserk for worrying so much. You would tell him that he was being ridiculous! This time you’re stunted by his words. Was he implying that he would go sleep with someone else? Or was he hoping Revna and the others would go sleep around some more?

“Hvitserk… come back to bed.” You plead with him, resting several small kisses on his neck, pushing his many bound braids over his opposing shoulder. Small kisses grow to irritating little nips.

“C’mon, you’ve had me for days.” He grumbles, your fingertips teasing up his arms in teasingly small spirals. Ripples of gooseflesh coats his arms, running down his spine with a small helpless moan off his lips.

“Lets make it a few more.”

Stupidly, he follows.

* * *

Sex with Revna is always interesting.

It’s not just the oral sex. Sometimes, he bounces her on his hips while bouncing her beautiful tits in her hands too. Other times, he likes to fuck those tits while she feeds him bread or fuck her in her father’s barn– under his nose.

It’s always something different– something fun. After the days of bouncing you on his cock, he needed to dick something different. He couldn’t have himself becoming monogamous. He’s way too young for that.

He was still fiddling with his tunic when his bouncing steps brought him in front of the Great Hall. Ubbe was standing just outside the door. If his eyes weren’t betraying him– that was Ubbe’s hand sliding away your hair from your eyes. Your hands are empty of any sort of dress. So what business did you have here?

“Ubbe!” He calls out brusquely. His hands rest at his midsection as he bobs up the steps where you were, head inclined. Ubbe’s hand drops from your hair to his side. Hvitserk notices your eye is intent on Ubbe’s armring when you abruptly break past him without so much as a hello. A more than purposeful brush by him knocks Hvitserk back.

“Wait!” Ubbe barks. “(Y/N)!”

He reaches out and manages to tug your wrist. You break his hold by a twist of the wrist and burst past him toward your father’s longhouse.

“What was that?” Hvitserk turns toward his brother.

Ubbe’s gaze falls down then back up again toward his smaller brother. “She was looking for you.”

That would explain why she was here… but…

“Why did you have your hand on her, hm, brother? I told you I don’t share her. It keeps her clingy.” Hvitserk rumbles. Ubbe looks away, gazing into the sky with a smile so bright. Hvitserk is sure he can’t believe that he is being interrogated on a beautifully clear day.

“She was just inquiring about where you were.” Ubbe explains, singing a familiar tune that Ubbe always heard. It was likely, Hvitserk thinks. When you did not have him in your arms, you always seemed to wonder who he was with. Where he was. If he had eaten well.

Frigg knew that you were annoying to deal with. Long minutes ticked by Hvitserk’s head in piecing everything together. For the first time in months, he finds himself wondering why Ubbe’s hand had to be where it was.

“That doesn’t explain why you were touching her.” He asks, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. “She is my fuck.”

“Hvitserk.” He turns Hvitserk around, an arm around his shoulder as he guides him closer to the training grounds. “It was nothing more than consoling, trust me. Let’s go meet Sigurd before they fight.”

Nothing… it was nothing. Hvitserk wants to believe that the moment his older brother’s hand was on your skin, it was nothing. This was Ubbe… The Ubbe he shared all his women with. You should be no different.

Somehow, it was.

Even though you were just a simple spinner; you made beautiful and intricate products that naturally brought the eye of other men. After all, it was a desired trait. To be able to spin spoke a lot about a woman— and above all, he knew everyone knew what kind of good wife you would make him.

The last time he visited left him with a blue tunic you made him. He knew that you were in deep, but never quite noticed how deep he was in it until his brothers picked at him. Sigurd and he spar with a clanging of weapons. A great slam of axe against sword rung as they spun out of their final steps in the clearing.

“(Y/N) made you another tunic didn’t she?” Sigurd notices first as Hvitserk pulls the string of his bow back. His blond brother pinches the embroidered collar of his neckline as Hvitserk heaves for breath with his hands at his knees.

“Yeah, her.” Hvitserk looks down with a cheesy grin. “She’s clingy as Hel.”

“Is that her name?” Ivar flicks his head up into his brother’s direction. Hvitserk steps closer to his other brothers.

"I guess." He says.

“Yes. She is the best spinner in Kattegat.” Ubbe lazily marches over to where Hvitserk was, taking the bow that began to slouch in his arms. He draws back the bow. “Her bride price is high.”

Ivar slouches with his cup in hand, cocking his brow up at his brother. “How high?”

Ubbe shrugs his shoulders. “Several livestock, a few yards of silk, pounds of gold and pepper.”

Hvitserk’s gaze snaps up to catch Ubbe’s just as he releases an arrow. “Why would you want to know of her mundr?”

It was suspicious enough that minutes ago, Ubbe’s finger was against your skin. From the moment he heard that Ubbe knew the price of your mundr, he knew that something was off. What man knew the price of their brother’s woman? Unless he had gone to inquire it himself. His suspicions are quickly confirmed.

The bow lodges with a crack. “I am getting old. I could use a wife.” He answers. That was about all that Sigurd could take from the brother that continuously kept trying to steal his things. Just because he was older– didn’t mean he could take absolutely everything.

“She’s mine brother!” In an instant, he steps against Ubbe. His hands push him by the chest on their own accord.

“I thought you thought her annoying and clingy.” Ubbe answers quickly– to Hvitserk’s vast annoyance. At one time maybe. Maybe he only came to sleep with her when the others were busy. When he was back from shore, though, she was the only one to come see him with that sweet smile, waving though he was miles from shore. Throwing herself on him and peppering him with deep kisses and providing offerings to Ran for his safe return. Without fail.

“She belongs to me, she’s going to be my wife or no ones. I love her, Ubbe!” Hvitserk draws back, allowing for Ubbe to run his hand through his wispy hairs a top his head. Sigurd clears his throat as Hvitserk’s eyes dart to the forest floor.

“Then you had better put a down payment on her price soon.” He says. Hvitserk’s hands come up behind his head, slowing his steps into a circle. That would mean letting go of his other women– something he wasn’t sure he could do.


	4. Chapter IV: My Name

Other pussy was fine and great but the need for his familiar home… irked him. He heard from other warriors the same of their wives. As if he could have a steady wife, constantly eager for a pretty thing that crossed his path. Lately though, the allure began to waver. It made him feel weak. So of course, he found himself ambling down Kattegat’s dusty alleys in search of your longhouse painted with a natural blue sky hue. He braces himself with the right words to soothe you.

Every time he came back to you, it had to be full of the sweetest words. It wasn’t as if you’d throw him out. No, Hvitserk never had to worry of that. There was something worse that you had. A bargaining chip with him. Not your elaborate clothes or sweet pussy. It was something even more heart damaging for him.

“Baby, don’t cry.” He came behind your waist as you dealt with the furs hanging to dry outside. “Revna’s only good for her tits, you know that.”

“Then what am I good for?” You say with dry words. Despite the tears streaming down your cheeks, you were fighting the hold on your waist. “If its not my tits, is it my ass?”

He opens his lips to speak when you cut him off. “No it isn’t.” Your hands come to the hold on your waist. “If I had a good body for something, I would be so proud!”

He doesn’t understand where this comes from. You had never been a woman of poor self esteem. Only poor judgement. He twists you around to subject himself to an onslaught of punches against his chest.

“I’m just filler pussy! Your plaything until they become free!”

All colour had might as well drained out of his face at that very moment. You finally found out. He could get out of this. He got out of most things with you. It was easy to lure you back onto his lap. Hvitserk’s grips your wrists in his hands.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, restricting his breathing from the panic rising in his chest.

“I heard you talking to your brothers in the forest.”

_She’s clingy as hel._

_She’s mine._

_I thought you thought her annoying and clingy._

_She belongs to me, she’s going to be my wife or no ones!_

There was a handful of things that he had said– and if you waited, you would have heard the brothers laughing about just how you caught his eye that night. Sigurd had taken Margrethe, Signe lured Ubbe into bed with him and that left him alone with Revna nowhere to be found. You were… happenstance. Fine enough curves covered by the finest of dresses in Kattegat. You certainly looked expensive and, well, Hvitserk liked a pricey looking bitch. Nothing more, nothing less.

“That was not what it sounded like.” He impresses upon you.

“It sounded like you were marking me out like a piece of livestock to a man that clearly saw me as being wife material.” Your hands come over the amber necklaces around your neck, rolling the beads in your fingers. “I’ve always known I wasn’t your only, Hvitserk. But I always hoped that…” You trail off.

“Hoped what?” He asks, rocking back on his heels. You toss the stick in your hand to the ground, rising hand to upper arm.

“I hoped that I was the one for you every time I waited out by the pier.” You curl your lips inwards, gently moistening the cracked area. “But now, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you didn’t know my name.”

When you look back up to Hvitserk, he knows this is the part where he is supposed to grasp you by the waist and say (Y/N), baby, I know your name. Except his mind feels as if its drowning in the ocean, small in a large pool of knowledge. Your eyebrows shift when no words come from his mouth.

“Hvitserk?” You ask. “What is my name?”

Dis? Gyra? Damn it, your father told him. Sigurd told him your name and now a million different names were coursing through his mind. Some of whom spent days intertwined between Hvitserk and Ubbe. All he shared gladly if they were willing. It must have shown on his face… because the ground has suddenly become mighty interesting. His ears felt as if they were heating up under bubbling boiling water.

He didn’t know.

The realization cracks over your face. He hasn’t felt such a feeling of dread since Ubbe and he fell into a hunk of icy floe of Kattegat’s mighty sea. He braces himself for such an impact when his lips crack apart.

“I don’t know who you are.”

Indeed his words crack something– but it isn’t the sea. It’s the evenness of your voice as you let loose a choked gasp, dipping down to pick up your staff. You can’t even stomach looking at him, pulling the head of your inky purple hood over your head as you rush off, bumping into his shoulder as well. His head shifts to the side to watch as your figure slams the front door of your longhouse shut. Even though it is a small door he could likely kick down, it feels like a fissure separating the both of you.

* * *

“How did it go?”

The boys had gotten away from Kattegat. Ivar was on the bed, hands tucked under his cheek to support him. He mocks Hvitserk in a low drawl of his voice. All the brothers knew… something had happened. They had their theories, their little words about how it could have gone if Hvitserk was in such a piss poor mood.

“Shut up, Ivar.” Ubbe barks out. He skins a rabbit on a wooden stool with a small blade.

“I only wanted to know how Hvitserk fared.” Ivar pushes off of his side onto his back, stretching out his arms toward the wooden ceiling. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to know, Ubbe.”

Hvitserk examines his wild apple, bringing it to his lips. “She slammed the door in my face.”

“That went well.” Ivar flings an amused smile to his brother.

“I will give it some time. Stay away a month or two and she will see how much she misses me.” Hvitserk beams a healthy, pearly smile. Ubbe’s fingers come to a halt on the skin.

“What if she doesn’t? What then?”

Hvitserk ignores Ubbe. Such a thing would never happen. Or at least… he thought it wouldn’t. Right?


	5. Chapter V: Who is he?

Thor thrashes his hammer that evening. The sun was blotted out as if Hati had devoured it when you were inside sewing the embroidery on Earl Lagertha’s newest dress. You should have been watching most closely for this– after all, it was your duty to care for the pieces you made. Since running away from Hvitserk, however, things were fuzzy in your mind. It had been two months since you had last seen him and you had no time for games, there were festivals to be had and if you ever were going to meet anyone new it would be then.

“Wait!” Came the quiet prince. Hvitserk, the hungry one, who helped you gather the heavy woolen material back into your woven basket. Your hair strung about your face, whipping around as you gather your clothes back into your basket. With his aid and height, it was easier to gain the pieces higher up on your heavy wooden stand. Sure, you’re momentarily thankful… but when you see that jaunty little smile in his eyes, it all comes flooding right back.

“Thank you Prince Hvitserk.” You say. “I should go back inside and dry these off now.”

He tilts his head harshly, as if shocked, he might have been too. “I am a man, let me help you get it in.”

You look up to him, rushing down the muddy streets that have your ankles sinking in soft mud. You shake your head about a million times. “I have it.” You respond curtly, sticking to it this time. If you let him talk you back, it would be the same. This time… oh this time would be different in a million and one different ways.

Your words aren’t completely stringing together for the hungry prince. “Then tomorrow?” He suggests with a hint of hopefulness tied to his voice. If cuddles after a rainy day didn’t sound good, you didn’t know what would.

“No.” You answer, coming the the doorway of your home. You open the door, shoving the sopping clothes in and nearly following after when Hvitserk grasps your wrist with a bruising grip to his war calloused hands.

His stunned eyes reflect the tightness your hand in his wrist. “Why not?”

You roll your lower lip into your mouth. “Because I do not want to.” You respond. “I would like to dry off however.”

Hvitserk yanks you back off the steps up to your home, twisting you around to grab your other wrist. “You never say no.”

Was he intending to bully you back into his bed? Your teeth clench, resolving yourself with a face of tension to look him into the eye. Beyond his soft, puppy like cheeks with peppered facial hair, his eyes hold an insulted quality. He looks to you shaken as if Ubbe had told him no more bread or something so ridiculous.

“I don’t want to sleep with you anymore.” You muster the courage to speak the thoughts that had been whirling through your head the last week or more.

“Is there another man?” Hvitserk says so quickly that you snap your hand away from his wrist to smack him across the face. His jaw snaps to the side, water running over the bridge of his nose to dribble onto his full lips.

“No, of course there isn’t.” Your voice is stern, unrelenting. “I’m only… over the women and the drama. I’m over you.”

As if a weight came over his head, he pulls back with a ‘huh’ bouncing off his lips. It’s long enough for you to rush up the stairs and out of his grasp. He realizes as much, moving after you a fraction too late. The heavy door knocks closed in his eyes, causing him to look lower… and lower, over the heavy weight door. He notices something for the very first time. Your name carved over the door. He knows as much– because while the name always escaped him, he could make it out in a set of names. It was a bit too late.

It paid to fuck out his worries on another woman. Revna was his new default… easy, she was easy. A big busted bimbo who couldn’t care less if her name was remembered. Then he would come to the Great Hall with his drink, religiously. It felt… dull to him. As if there was no interest in what he were doing anymore without your warm smile on Kattegat’s pier when he came home.

“Are you taking Revna dancing?” Ubbe asks, Margrethe was square on his lap. He says nothing, shaking his head lightly.

“She has others lined up.” He says.

“(Y/N)?”

His ears burn. He knew you were going to show up, probably with your goading father finally having the last laugh. He intends to take you back. Every instant of his mind filled with thought of it. Others filter into the Great Hall– and his first look at you leaves his heart strumming. Any man knew that a poor man with a good wife was a rich man indeed. You were flawless with your hair twisted, bouncing around your shoulders as you walk in with the finest dress he had seen that night. It should be no surprise given the seamstress you were. Yet it always took his breath away.

He stands up with his cup about his chest, hopping down the stairs and past Ivar who drags himself back up. He finds you beside another man with braided sides to his black hair. A trim black beard and warm, honey brown eyes make up the man’s innocent appearance. The two of you laugh and joke, a brightness coming to your cheeks he hadn’t seen in months of stalking you. You lean against a heavy table, laughing about something he can’t quite here. The sear burning in his heart is enough to cause him to intervene– a prince had nothing to worry of.

“Come here.” Hvitserk grasps your wrist brusquely, yanking you apart from your companion. Most men would have let him but this one cuts him off. A brazen man with scars over his cheek and a nose that probably had been broken one too many times.

“Let her go.” He demands.

It’s an impulsive, split second decision. In a second Hvitserk’s fist collides with the man’s throat. You stumble back, hitting one of the Great Hall’s firm wooden tables as the two roll about on the ground, exchanging punches. Ahead of you, Ubbe places Margrethe on the table, wandering down the stairs with a long, drawn out sigh. He pulls the two men apart long enough for Hvitserk to grasp the grip of his blade and draw it with a long metallic hiss of the blade in its sheath. Ubbe groans, turning around to look at Hvitserk.

“Put that away.” He flicks his fingers at his little brother.

“He was taking my woman.” Hvitserk says gruffly.

You lean down to help this strange man up, inciting Hvitserk to lurch forward with the blade. Ubbe grabs his brother’s shoulder to anchor him in place. Your thumb comes back over the man’s bloody nose, gasping incredulously to Hvitserk.

“I am not your woman, Hvitserk.” You wipe blood streaming down over the coarse, dark beard of this new man. “This man did nothing to incite that, either. I hope he’ll have to account for this at the Thing, Prince Ubbe.”

The oldest of the brothers has no choice but to nod as you turn this Earl about, showing him to a bowl of water supplied by a thrall. Hvitserk lurches as if to follow and is quickly shoved in another direction by Ubbe.

“Walk it off Hvitserk.” He snears. “There are other women.”

* * *

He is leaded out with shoves out the door of the Great Hall. Hvitserk finally sheathes his sword and whips about, his hands tight on the splintering wood that kept their animals within a pin.

“Who was that man!?” He sneers.

“An Earl.” Ubbe stands with his legs slightly spread, arms tight over his chest. “Who you attacked without just cause.”

“I had cause. Whoever he was, he was in my way.” He rasps lowly. Hvitserk wipes blood from his cracked lip, spitting out bloody saliva. As far as Hvitserk was concerned, another man couldn’t just walk in on his woman! If he made you his… it was for a reason. He had a reason.

“There are more women, Hvitserk.” Ubbe reasons with his wayward brother. Hvitserk throws Ubbe a look over his shoulder, a dark one. His eyes spiral with an obscure hate. He turns around, daring to get into his brother’s face.

“But that one is MINE!” Hvitserk roars loudly enough that bystanders rush away. Hvitserk, usually so meek when with Ubbe, shoves his brother back. “I’ll kill him, brother. He’s dead!”

Ubbe leans back on his heels, looking down with parted lips at his brother. If ever he has known his baby brother, it was now. Hvitserk’s words aren’t warning, but a statement. He doesn’t recognize the boy in front of him.


End file.
